heard a good deal as far as Baston is concerned, but what happened there in the
dining room?”
Betwixt them, they laid it out for me, and all of it made sense except that last
question about what happened to Pierre. When I brought that up they told me
Orrin said he was interested in some mining claims out in the San Juans, which
is about what Orrin would say to cover his reasons for asking questions. It
might give him a lead on somebody who left New Orleans for the wild lands to the
west, as it seemed likely to have done.
It began to look like Orrin had thrown that Pierre question in there on chance.
It was one of his lawyer’s tricks, and it had taken Andre Baston off guard …
but it might have gotten Orrin killed, too. A body just didn’t play games with a
man like Baston.
“This Andre Baston now? Was he alone?”
“He was joining his niece, Fanny, and nephew at a table near your brother.”
“And this Pierre they spoke of?”
“Pierre Bontemps. He was Andre’s brother-in-law. He went west on some wild
venture. Pierre was that way, always going off somewhere at the least excuse. He
was killed out there, by Indians, it was said. Andre got back.”
It still didn’t shape up to much. Orrin had exchanged a few words with a man
with a reputation as a duelist, and he had said something to which I gathered
Baston’s reaction was mighty strong.
A few more questions, and it began to look like when pa went west it was with
Pierre Bontemps, Andre Baston, and some others. I had no idea how many others
and who they were.
After a little more talk I got into a carriage and returned to the Saint
Charles. When I stepped down from the carriage, Hippo Swan was standing on the
curb opposite the hotel. And when I saw him I remembered where I’d heard the
name Baston before. The girl in the coffee shop had said he had once worked for
someone named Baston.
When I reached the door, I glanced back. Hippo Swan was lighting a cigar, but he
was holding the match up higher than necessary, or so it seemed to me.
A signal? If so, to whom?
Well, now. Chances were I was just seeing shadows where none existed, but it
costs nothing to play if safe. Nobody had left any messages at the desk for me
so I started on up to my room.
The window, I recalled, looked over the street out front. A body standing in
that window could easily see a match struck down there on the street. Turning
around on the stairs I went back down to the desk. The clerk was gone, but the
Negro I’d talked to earlier was standing there.
“Is there anyone in the room adjoining mine? The one with the door opening into
mine?”
He consulted the register. “Not at present, suh.”
I put a silver dollar on the desk. “Could you let me have it for a few minutes?”
He looked straight into my eyes. “What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Sackett?”
“Well, now. I’m kind of a cautious man. It seems to me that one Sackett
disappearing is enough, and if somebody was inside my room now, somebody who was
waiting for me, he’d be likely to be waiting beside the hall door.”
“It is likely, suh.” He pushed the key toward me and my dollar as well. “Would
you like me to call the hotel officer, suh?”
“Thank you … no.”
Turning away I started for the steps. He spoke after me. “Good hunting, suh.”
I walked softly down the carpeted hall and opened the room next to mine, then
ever so gently I put the key into the lock, careful to make no sound. I ran
quickly around to my own door, fumbled with the knob, then swore softly,
muttering something about the key.
I ran back to the door in the adjoining room and opened it suddenly.
There was a little light from the window, and the bulk of a man waiting by the
door. A shadow moved as the door swung wide … there was another man!
They came for me, both of them. They were big men and were probably considered
quite tough. They came for me, one from each direction. I had my knife and I had
my Colt, but the Colt seemed an unfair advantage, and no doubt there was folks
asleep upstairs or around me. I stepped in to meet them as they came at me from
two sides, but I hooked a toe behind a chair and kicked it in front of the one
coming from the right, and, as he fell over it, I lowered the boom on the second
one with a good right fist.
He was ambitious, that gent was, and he was coming in fast, so when he met my
right fist halfway he was driving right into it with all the thrust of his legs.
There was a splat, then a crunch, as his nose folded like an accordion under my
fist. As he hit the floor I kicked him in the side of the head.
The first man was starting to get up, but I was through fooling around. I put
the point of my knife against his throat right over the jugular vein, and I
said, “I don’t care if I do or I don’t. What d’ you think?”
He was sure of one thing, and he didn’t need to be sure of anything else. One
twist of that blade and tomorrow morning they’d be throwing dirt over him.
He held right still. “For God’s sake, mister! Don’t kill me! I didn’t mean
nothin’!”
“Who set you up to this?”
“I don’t—”
That knife point dug a mite deeper. A tiny push now and he’d be bleeding on the
carpet. “You tell me. You tell me who sent you and what you were to do with me.”
“Swan sent me. The Hippo. We was to lay you out and pack you out the back way
and down to the swamp.”
“Get up, then.” I took a step back and let him up, and I didn’t much care if he
wanted to open the ball or not, but he’d had all he wanted. There was a trickle
of blood down his neck and it scared him. He was only scratched, but he didn’t
know how much and he was so scared he was ready to cry.
“Take that,” I pointed my foot at the other man, “and clear out of here. Next
time you tackle a Sackett, you be sure his hands are tied.”
He backed away from me. “I had nothin’ to do with that. It was him,” he gestured
to the man on the floor, “an’ Hippo. They done it.”
For a moment I looked at him, then, the edge of my blade up, I stepped toward
him. “Where did they take him?”
His voice was a whisper. “To the swamp. To a houseboat on the bayou. I don’t
know which one.”
“Get out!”
He stooped, lifting the other man with an effort, and staggered out. Closing the
door after him I lit the light, then I closed and locked the door to the
adjoining room. There was a spot of blood on the point of my knife and I wiped
it clean.
There was a light tap on the door. It was the Negro again. “The key, suh? I
supposed you might be through with it.”
“Thanks—I am. But I believe I’ve broken a chair.”
He glanced at it. “I hope that wasn’t all,” he said quietly. He gathered the
pieces. “A chair can be replaced.”
“What’s your name?” I asked him, suddenly aware that I wanted to know.
He did not smile. “Judas, suh. Judas Priest.”
“Thank you, Judas.”
The Negro turned at the door. “Two of them, suh? That’s doing very well, suh.”
“You saw them?”
“Oh, yes, suh! Of course.” He slipped his hand into his pocket, and it came out
wearing a very formidable set of brass knuckles. “We couldn’t allow anything to
happen to a guest! Not at the Saint Charles, suh!”
“Much obliged. That’s what I’d call service. I’d better put in a good word for
you to the management.”
“If you don’t mind, suh, my participation would have been entirely my own
responsibility.”
“Thank you, Judas.”
He drew the door shut after him, and I dropped down on the bed. Orrin was in a
houseboat on a bayou. That was mighty little to know, for there were dozens of
bayous and probably hundreds of houseboats.
Orrin might be dead, or dying. Right now he might be needing all the help he
could get. And I could not help him …
CHAPTER IV
Settin’ on the side of the bed I gave thought to my problem. I had to find Orrin